


Raisin D'être

by starsinursa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baking, Canon Universe, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Cookies, Ficlet, First Kiss, Fluff, I'm Sorry, Literally I have a cavity from the fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 09:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11415033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinursa/pseuds/starsinursa
Summary: Apparently, Castiel hates raisins.





	Raisin D'être

**Author's Note:**

> I bet you thought I was done with horrible, fluffy, food-based ficlets, but YOU WERE WRONG! SO, SO WRONG!
> 
> This one is inspired by a cracky conversation I had with a friend, in which we decided that Cas is probably a picky eater who does ridiculous things like pick raisins out of his food, and this is now my new favorite headcanon.
> 
> Naturally, I had to write it, and then it turned disgustingly fluffy. I’m so sorry.
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](starsinursa.tumblr.com)!

“Hey, Cas, gimme your opinion on this,” Dean says, handing him a cookie.

Castiel takes it gently, reverently. It’s still warm from the oven, the rest of the batch cooling on top of the stove, and the kitchen smells delightful. It’s not often that Dean bakes – he prefers to whip up burgers or steaks, or the odd hearty stew or casserole – but occasionally Dean will get in a “mood” and decide to use up some of the flour sitting in the bunker’s pantry, and then he’ll bake and bake until Sam laughingly tells him they’re all going to get fat. It was fudge brownies last time, and apple pies the time before that.

This time, apparently, it’s cookies.

“It smells very good, Dean,” Castiel says earnestly, and Dean flashes him a grin before turning back to the oven.

Castiel brings the cookie closer and inhales again. A discerning sense of smell is just one of his angelic perks, and he enjoys smelling Dean’s cookies much more than smelling dead bodies. He recognizes just a waft of vanilla, and brown sugar, and a hint of nutmeg, and –

“Raisins?” he asks, looking up. “There’s raisins in this?”

Dean glances over. “Uh, yeah, Cas, that’s where they’re called ‘oatmeal raisin cookies’.”

Castiel squints at the cookie, anticipation ebbing away, and now he feels a little… well, cheated. 

Dean watches him for a moment, then turns to face him and leans back against the counter.

“What’s wrong with raisins? I mean, they’re no chocolate chips, but they’re all right.”

Castiel grumbles. “I don’t like raisins.”

“Huh. You’ve tried raisins before?”

“…no.”

“What? Then how the hell do you know you don’t like them?”

“I just do,” Castiel says primly.

Dean makes a face. “That’s not an answer.”

“I can tell. By their smell.”

“Raisins have a smell? That’s…well, kinda gross. But not everything tastes the way it smells, Cas, some things are misleading and – hey! Stop picking out the raisins, you fucking heathen!”

Castiel freezes guiltily with a raisin pinched between his fingers. Dean levels a finger at him and glares.

“Leave the raisins alone, Cas, they’re in there for a _reason_. It won’t taste the same without them.”

“Good,” Castiel mutters.

“Cas. Take a bite of the damn cookie.”

Castiel sighs and shoots him a mutinous look, too quickly for Dean to see, but dutifully raises the cookie to his mouth and takes a slow bite. Dean’s eyes are fixated on him, scrutinizing, watching him chew with an intensity usually reserved for working a case or watching one of his soap operas.

“Good, yeah?” Dean finally prompts.

Castiel nods slowly, but he doesn’t open his mouth to respond. His mouth is still full of cookie that he refuses to swallow.

“You still have it in your mouth, don’t you?”

Castiel hesitates, then nods again. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you big baby,” Dean sighs, but he doesn’t actually sound angry. “Fine, just spit it out then – _not on the table!_ What the fuck is wrong with you, I just wiped that down! I meant in the trashcan! Christ – here –“

He thrusts his open hand in front of Castiel, palm up. It’s obvious what Dean is indicating - the gesture is unmistakable - so Castiel spits out the bite of cookie into Dean’s waiting hand.

Dean makes a face, wrinkling his nose in disgust, but stalks over to the trashcan and throws away the bite of cookie. He immediately goes to the sink and flips on the faucet, starting to wash his hands.

“You are so lucky I love you, Cas,” he gripes, scrubbing his hands together vigorously. “Do you know how many people I’ve let spit food into my hands? Two. Sammy when he was little, and Ben. Two kids, not grown-ass adult angels.” He turns off the faucet and snatches up a paper towel, drying his hands as he turns back around. “I mean, at least it wasn’t fucking gum – there is nothing worse than carrying around chewed gum – but raisins are a close second – “

Castiel is staring at him. He knows he’s staring, but he can’t help it. The cookie is still grasped in his hand, forgotten, horrible raisins and all.

Dean stops, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“You said you love me.”

Both eyebrows shoot up this time, in a way that looks distinctly panicked. “What?” Dean repeats. It’s the same word, but an entirely different tone of voice.

“You said -” He raises his empty hand so he can add air-quotes, “- ‘you are so lucky I love you -‘”

Dean splutters. Throws the paper towel at the trashcan. Misses. “That was – Jesus, Cas, that’s just a turn of phrase, you know I didn’t - you’ve been around humans long enough to – “

“I love you too.”

Dean sucks in a breath like someone just punched him in the stomach. “What?” he says, a third time.

Castiel sets down the cookie on the table, brushing off his fingers on his coat, and stands up. “I love you too.” He moves around the table towards Dean, who’s standing frozen against the counter looking remarkably like ‘a deer in the headlights’, as he’s heard people say. “I’ve loved you for a long time. When I first cupped your soul in my hands and lifted you out of Hell. When you fought me and raged against me and refused Heaven. When I spent every day in Purgatory trying to stay one step ahead of you.”

It doesn’t look like Dean is even breathing. Castiel is starting to become a little concerned, but he needs to finish saying these things now that he’s started, or he might never take the chance again.

“I love the way you sing along to the radio, and the way you always make the hard choices even though you hate them, and the way you say my name. I love how a successful hunt makes you happy, but so does baking. Although,” he adds, because he feels like he needs to be entirely honest here, even if it hurts Dean’s feelings, “I do not like your oatmeal raisin cookies.”

That does it, finally, and Dean bursts into a startled laugh, some of the tension ebbing out of his shoulders. He laughs until he snorts, and then he raises a hand and rubs it across his face. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Covers his eyes. “Jesus, Cas – “

And then Dean kisses him, both hands coming forward to cup Castiel’s jaw and curl his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. 

It feels like he’s waited millennia for this, and Castiel kisses him back.

Even if he does taste like raisins.


End file.
